


Unfinished Business

by PrinceSircastic



Category: X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009)
Genre: Implied Physical Abuse, M/M, implied RemyLogan, mentions of experiments on mutants, post-Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceSircastic/pseuds/PrinceSircastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was something in Remy's eyes that forced Victor to flee from the alley in New Orleans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea that came to me whilst watching Origins the other night, and it wouldn't leave me alone. It bridges a small part of the gap between Origins and X-Men very slightly at the end.

It was something in his eyes. 

Victor had never run from a fight in his life. It was as much a matter of pride as it was knowing he'd come out the other side no matter what happened. In the early days he'd never backed down as a way to protect his younger brother, and even after Jimmy had grown big enough, and hard enough internally, to take care of himself, he hadn't been able to shake off that sense of loyalty and protectiveness. 

He'd also thrived on the thrill of a fight. It was why, he knew, he'd happily accepted his place on Stryker's team and followed orders. Working with Stryker meant he got to brawl and feed his thirst for blood whenever it suited him. Jimmy had never understood that. That's where they were different. Jimmy was the one who walked away, not him. 

But this time, Victor turned his tail and fled. 

When he'd followed Jimmy – no, Logan now, he'd reminded himself – and John to New Orleans, he'd smiled to himself. Even with a memory that stretched as long as his, he remembered everything perfectly. He remembered the last time he was here, chasing down that sneaky little brat with the exploding cards who'd actually thought he could get away. 

He had other memories concerning the Cajun street rat, memories of hauling his unconscious body over one shoulder to transport him to the Island and throw him in an electrified cage, as per Stryker's orders. Memories of being called into one of the testing labs and seeing the boy strapped to a table, fighting to get free, battling against them even as Stryker pumped him full of drugs to keep him calm through the experiments. Memories of backhanding that pretty face and knocking him around when he didn't behave, as instructed to by Stryker. 

Memories of those eyes, not filled with fear but with anger, and promise. 

He'd remembered those eyes when news of his escape had been relayed to them, and he'd expected Stryker to order him to chase him down again, and bring him back. No such orders were ever given, and when he'd pushed Stryker for the reason, the man had told him he'd gotten all he was going to from that boy, in the tone of voice that let Victor know he shouldn't ask again. 

Victor knew that Stryker had been royally pissed, and not because the brat had managed to slip his grasp. No – he'd been pissed because no matter what he'd done, no matter what he'd put the boy through, he'd had no results from him. He couldn't get a damn thing from him, couldn't replicate his power in any way. But it was also more than that. 

Stryker was pissed because the Cajun brat hadn't broken. 

The other kids had all broken. Sure, they'd fought at first – some more than others – and a few had kept up the hope that they'd get out, but in the end, they'd submitted to their situation and given up. 

But _he_ hadn't. 

Oh he'd played them all, Victor had known that. He'd played the part of the scared little mutant boy, even if it had taken months before he'd realised fighting against them wasn't going to work. He'd still fought, of course, but that had been part of the act – if he'd done a complete switch of character, it would have been obvious. But he'd tricked them, and he'd escaped, and Victor had longed to chase after him and finish what he'd started two years earlier. 

So when he'd crouched in that alley and watched his younger brother fly through a brick wall, he'd smiled. He knew, even before the lithe figure hopped out through the hole, exactly what had done it. He'd been on the receiving end of one of those explosions himself. Of course the brat had gone home. He'd briefly wondered how long it had been before he'd considered it safe. How long had he spent looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to snatch him up again? 

Jimmy was more important, however, especially with those shiny new claws. He told himself he'd deal with his brother, put him down even if only temporarily, and then he'd go back for the kid. That had been the plan, right up until the brat got in the way. So, he figured he'd have to deal with the kid first. 

But, as he'd picked himself up from the debris and met those eyes, something in his gut had clenched, and twisted. For the first time he could remember, he felt something that brushed a little too close to fear for his liking. 

Those weren't the eyes of the Cajun street rat he'd tossed into a cage roughly five or six years ago. Those were the eyes of a man who'd sworn revenge, and whose rage burned so fiercely Victor knew he would get burned. Between the Cajun and his brother, Victor knew there was a chance he wasn't going to walk free of this one. 

So he tossed away his pride, and he ran. 

\-- 

He should have known it wouldn't end there. 

After the incident on the Island, Victor had disappeared into the mist, laying low for several months before resurfacing as far from the Island as he could get. He knew there was a chance Jimmy – no, Logan – would find him and finish things between them, and he wasn't stupid enough to believe that he'd walk away from it. He couldn't compete with adamantium. 

He spent so much time thinking about his brother, he forgot all about the Cajun who'd looked at him with murder in his eyes. 

It was nearly a year after the Island when Victor found himself face-to-face with the brat in another alley, and he remembered that brush of fear he'd felt when he'd met his eyes for the first time since his escape. He felt it again now, fainter but still there, only this time he knew running away wasn't going to work. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognised that this scenario was the exact reverse of their very first meeting. Back then, he'd been the one with something cold and dark in his eyes, staring down his prey and knowing he would never stop chasing him. There was something almost cruelly ironic about it. 

There was something more fuelling the fight in him. Victor could sense it, could practically smell it on him. It was more than the anger of his capture, of his imprisonment. Grief clung to him, and it showed in his eyes. Victor used it, taunted him, but he wasn't prepared for the truth when it snapped out of him in a voice that was so close to breaking. 

His brother was gone. 

The shock of it threw him enough for the Cajun to get the upper hand, and despite his ability to recover quickly, Victor went down. When he felt the blade at his throat, that odd feeling of fear intensified. Was this, then, how his long life ended? He had wondered – often hoped – that it would be his brother who dealt the final blow. But with Jimmy gone, that wasn't an option. 

But that final blow never came. Instead, the Cajun looked down at him, the rage that had burned so fiercely in his eyes having faded into nothing more than cold ashes. He leant down until they were almost nose-to-nose – and then he smiled. 

 _"T'ink I'll leave you fo'_ _Logan_ _._ " 

Not truly gone, then, Victor had thought even as the Cajun had backed away. That single thought had kept his mind distracted, so he didn't spot the charged deck of cards that the Cajun scattered over and around him until they exploded. It wouldn't kill him, but the blow to his head was damaging enough. 

When he next awoke, he couldn't remember who he was, or where he was. His only memory was of the bloodlust, the thirst for a fight, the savagery deep inside. He spent a year finding his place, becoming familiar with the world, giving himself a name, and trying to shake off the feeling that there was something he needed to do, someone he needed to find. 

And that's when Erik Lensherr found him, and Sabretooth joined the Brotherhood. 

\-- 

At almost the exact same moment, Remy LeBeau watched Logan open the door to his truck, and puzzle over the worn leather jacket he'd tossed onto the seat as soon as Logan had ducked into the gas station. He watched the Canadian bring the jacket to his face as though sniffing it, and a smile tugged at his lips when he shrugged and pulled it on before climbing into his truck. 

It had taken two years to track him down – two long years, and a run-in with Victor, but he'd finally found him. For two years he'd kept the jacket Logan had left in his plane, hoping he would one day be able to return it. His plan had been to give it to him face-to-face, and hope that Logan remembered him, that maybe some of his memory had returned and he remembered the nights they'd spent together before the Island, but when he'd pulled up and watched Logan get out of his truck, he'd known he couldn't do it. 

Maybe one day he'd find Logan again, and actually face him. One day he'd tell Logan everything if he still didn't remember. But for now, he was content enough to return the jacket, and watch from afar. 

With a smile, Remy mounted his bike once more, and drove off in the direction of home.


End file.
